


Table for One

by ddagent



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Dating, F/M, Food, Stood Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23792998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddagent/pseuds/ddagent
Summary: When the most handsome man in Westeros is stood up on his date, Chef Brienne Tarth does her best to comfort him – albeit from a distance.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 129
Kudos: 522





	Table for One

**Author's Note:**

> So elizadunc prompted: "Omg what about I see you got stood up let’s have a drink but with Jaime being the one who got stood up for a change" and it transformed from bartender!brienne to chef!brienne and honestly I don't even know anymore. Thank you remuslovestonks for looking it over for me. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“Can you believe it? The most beautiful man in Westeros has been stood up.”

Brienne lifted her head from the pass and stared at the kitchen doors; four of the waitstaff huddled around the small window as they stared out onto the restaurant beyond. Wiping away the last few smudges on the plate, she called out to her staff. “Service please.”

All four quickly hurried away from the door at the sound of the head chef. Leaving Podrick in charge of the pass momentarily, Brienne crossed to the door that had held so much interest. Through the glass, she could, indeed, see the man her staff had labelled _the most beautiful man in Westeros._ And he was, truly: dark blonde hair falling across his forehead; bottle-green eyes that caught the soft light of _The Wall’s_ dining room. He wore that designer stubble well; that designer suit even better. Yet, he had no dining companion.

_A man that beautiful, I’m sure they’re just running late._

“Podrick?” Her sous chef’s head jerked upwards. “I need to have a word with the front of house. Look after the pass until I get back.”

“Yes, Chef.”

Pushing through the kitchen doors, Brienne crossed through the dining room in her chef whites. A few heads turned in her direction, but not the most beautiful man in Westeros. His gaze was either fixed upon the chair in front or upon the blank screen of his phone. Despite them being in _completely_ different dating leagues, Brienne felt a moment of kinship with the man. She’d been stood up many-a-time; left in bars, restaurants, outside museums, inside theatres. And always she waited far longer than she should have: hoping to save face; hoping against hope that they would come.

They never did.

At the front of house, _The Wall’s_ maître d’, Brynden Tully, had just finished showing a young couple to their table. He was a good man; Brienne had worked with him at _The Wall_ in Winterfell where his niece – and Brienne’s mentor – had been head chef. When Catelyn and her husband, Ned, had decided to open a third location, this time down south, they had asked Brienne to run it. Brynden had come, too. Whether out of a desire to leave behind the freezing Northern winters or to look out for Brienne, she had yet to discover.

Either way, his smile was genuine as she approached the front. “The gentlemen at table fourteen.”

“Oh, aye, the golden lad.” Brynden looked at the reservations book, a holdover from the North. “Lannister, party of two, booked for seven.” It was now closer to eight. “Looks like he’s been stood up. Who in the Seven would—”

“—that certainly seems to be the opinion of the waitstaff,” Brienne proffered, without sharing that she, too, could not imagine anyone who would willingly leave the Warrior reborn waiting. “When Tarly’s back from the wine cellar, ask him to bring Mister Lannister a glass of Arbor Gold, on the house.”

Brynden nodded, trying to restrain his smile. “Yes, Chef.”

Satisfied that Mister Lannister had been taken care of, Brienne returned to the kitchen. She and Podrick completed the appetisers for two more tables before she saw Tarly cross the dining room. Leaving her sous chef to plate the lamb, Brienne stole away to the kitchen door. Through the glass, she watched as her sommelier, Sam, presented Mister Lannister with a glass of Arbor Gold, on the house. A bartender had done that for her once. Given her something to drink while she contemplated just how long she should wait. Brienne distinctly remembered her stomach rumbling (she and Hyle had agreed to dinner after drinks) yet she returned to her apartment with an empty stomach and a broken heart.

“Podrick, are you happy watching the pass while I prepare a dish for a VIP?” He nodded. “Good. If you need anything, I’ll be with Eddy on appetisers.”

Walking back from the pass to the burners, Brienne knew precisely what she would make for Mister Lannister, party of two. It was a speciality of _The Wall:_ seared scallops and a parsnip puree. On the menu, the dish came with a pancetta crumb. Brienne opted to use chorizo for smokiness. She smiled as she dropped the scallops in the pan; the sizzle and golden texture bringing back memories of home and _Goodwin’s,_ the seafood restaurant she’d spent her youth working in. Most Lannisters came from the west coast; the golden horizon of Lannisport. Brienne hoped her VIP enjoyed seafood just as much as she.

Once the dish was ready, Brienne brought the components up to the pass and began to plate. It was just a little something; a full hour had passed since his reservation, and Mister Lannister must be hungry. With a quick wipe of her cloth, Brienne gestured to one of the waitstaff hovering nearby. “Jeyne, could you take this to table fourteen?”

“To the Warrior in a five thousand dragon suit? Seven Heavens, I can.” The young woman grinned and sauntered over to the pass. “Thank you, Chef.”

Brienne rolled her eyes as Jeyne left the kitchen and headed out onto the floor. Yet, she couldn’t help resist a peek through the kitchen door at Mister Lannister’s reaction. He seemed baffled at the plate of food, even _argued_ with Jeyne that it wasn’t for him. When Sam poured him another glass of Arbor Gold, he seemed to settle. His gaze lifted from the chair in front, meeting hers across tables and diners and kitchen doors. Brienne immediately jerked away.

“Chef?”

“Let’s get back on the pass, Podrick; plenty of other diners here tonight.”

She wanted to say she lost herself in plating dishes and completing tables. But Brienne could not. Her eyes darted towards the _in_ door every few seconds until Jeyne came back with the kitchenware practically _licked_ clean. After visiting Gendry at the dishwashing station, Jeyne sauntered over to the pass.

“The hunk at table fourteen wanted to thank the kitchen for his _delicious_ plate of food. Apparently, he hasn’t had scallops that well done since he was a boy.” Jeyne grinned. “He _also_ said that, if the kitchen feels like making him anything else, he likes his steak medium-rare.”

Brienne spluttered. “Did he, now?”

“He did.” Jeyne’s smile faded. “I’d give him some slack, Chef. I took a quick glance at his phone after I served table twelve. _Ten_ outgoing texts; no replies. It’s not just us who’s noticed he’s been stood up, either.”

As Jeyne took her plates for table sixteen, Brienne followed her to the kitchen doors. As they swung open, she caught a glimpse of the other diners exchanging looks; whispers. The young couple Brynden had seated earlier were openly staring; their laughter a note above the soft piano music emanating from the foyer. Mister Lannister just sat, phone abandoned; staring so intently at the empty chair as if to will its occupant to _finally_ arrive. He seemed oblivious to the comments, or perhaps he was just better at hiding his pain. The doors swung closed. Brienne had _not_ been good at hiding her pain. Not when others had stared, and laughed, and taken pictures at the lumbering woman who had _dared_ to think that someone would want to be seen with her.

Suddenly, green eyes met blue through the glass. Realising she was just as bad as the rest, Brienne retreated into the kitchen to cook a steak medium-rare. The most beautiful man in Westeros might leave _The Wall_ heartbroken, but he would be well-fed. “Podrick, you have the pass.”

“Yes, Chef.”

Although Brienne preferred to work with seafood, her tutelage with Catelyn had shown her how to cook the perfect steak. Dabbed dry and rubbed with salt; seared and then smothered in butter and garlic as it cooked over a hot flame. _The Wall_ served their sirloin with dauphinoise potatoes, but Brienne had always favoured triple-cooked chips. Maybe, when she had her own restaurant, she could make such adjustments. Of course, Mister Lannister hadn’t _ordered_ anything. Certainly not the sirloin with dauphinoise. Grinning, Brienne served his medium-rare sirloin with wild mushrooms and a beef-dripping sauce. With no waitstaff available, Brienne sent Podrick out to deliver the dish. 

As she completed the last table of appetisers, Podrick returned. He was smiling. “Table fourteen said to give his compliments to the chef.”

Brienne frowned. “He hasn’t even eaten it yet.”

“He said if you cook steak as well as your scallops, he’s in for a good meal.” Podrick closed the distance between them, so the rest of the kitchen couldn’t hear what else he had to say. “He also said that if he’s lucky enough to get a third course, he’d like the chef to bring it out herself.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed. “I see.”

 _Why,_ Brienne thought as she tried to distract herself with the next table, _did he want to meet her?_ To thank her, she mused, but he could simply pass his compliments onto the waitstaff, or Brynden as he made his leave. She had no desire to stand in front of such a man, face pink and hair plastered to her forehead, just to receive his praise. Yet, there seemed to be something more to it than simply thanking the chef. When Brienne passed _innocently_ by the kitchen doors, she just _happened_ to be glancing out just as Jeyne returned with Mister Lannister’s plate.

His head was craning as if trying to get a glimpse. Teeth pressed to his bottom lip; plate once again scraped clean. _Fuck._

Brienne did her best to ignore Mister Lannister and his interest, and instead focus on the pass. Wild boar, pigeon pie, lamb’s neck. A sauce that didn’t have enough depth of flavour; fondant potatoes that were brought to the pass hard in the middle. Brienne drove her kitchen forward; striving for excellence. _The Wall_ in King’s Landing had only been open for five months, and she was _determined_ not to fail. She just had to keep focussed and not become distracted by handsome diners who raved about her food to Podrick, to Sam as he poured him wine, to Brynden as he thanked him for the excellent service.

“I told him everything was on the house, but he _insisted_ on paying,” Brynden said as he hovered by the pass. “Bottle of Arbor, the scallops, the steak. Left a very generous tip, too.”

 _Oh._ Brienne tried not to be disappointed that he’d left. Just because Mister Lannister had told Podrick he wanted a third course – to meet _her_ – didn’t really mean anything. “Clearly not a dessert man.”

“Oh, he’s still waiting.”

Her blue eyes flashed. “For what? He’s paid, and his date is _clearly_ not coming.”

Brynden grinned. “I don’t think that’s who he’s waiting for.”

Brienne’s mouth fell open, struggling for comprehension as her maître d’ retreated to the front of house with a wink. Beside her, Podrick tried to contain his own smile. “Chef, I have the pass if you’re needed elsewhere. Desserts, for–for example.”

She thought about telling him no. Thought about telling him she had no intention to stand in front of the most beautiful man in Westeros and present a hand-made dessert as if this was some cheesy romantic comedy and her future husband was right beyond the kitchen door. These things…they didn’t _happen_ to Brienne. Brienne was stood up. Brienne was humiliated in bars and restaurants; museums and theatres. She did not have half-man, half-god diners waiting for her. And, yet, there he was. Through the glass, his gaze now looking past the long-abandoned chair towards the kitchen door. Towards _her._

“I’ll be in the back, working on the dessert for table fourteen.”

Brienne made Mister Lannister, table fourteen, the most beautiful man in Westeros, a miniature apple Tarte Tatin with salted caramel sauce and homemade vanilla ice cream. She made herself, Chef Tarth, head chef, _Brienne the Beauty,_ a second miniature apple Tarte Tatin. Ridiculous, really. It’s not as if he would–he probably just wanted to– _he’s still waiting for you, Brienne._ The second plate met Podrick’s approval as she brought the components up to the pass. All too soon, Brienne was heading out of the kitchen and into the dining room.

Most of their diners had left for the evening. But not him. His eyes, so much brighter than she’d realised through the glass, lifted at the sight of the plate. His smile widened at the sight of the second. “So, you’re the head chef,” he said, in a voice that was as smooth as the caramel she had baked the apples in.

She nodded. “I am.”

“Please, join me.” He gestured to the seat that had remained empty all evening. Still in her chef whites, Brienne drew out the chair and sat opposite the man she had spent most of the evening staring at. “Jaime,” he said, offering his hand. “And you are?”

“Chef Tarth.” Brienne winced as the man – as Jaime – chuckled good-naturedly. “Brienne. My name’s Brienne.”

“I think Chef Tarth suits you better.” Jaime stared at the plate and let out a sigh of contentment. “This looks _incredible._ All your food looks incredible. And _tastes_ incredible! You’re a very gifted chef. And kind, too. Thank you for tonight.”

Brienne simply shrugged. “We’ve all been stood up before.”

“First time, actually,” Jaime said, his spoon cutting through the apple and caramel. “My first foray back into the dating world after my ex carved out my heart and served it up at a buffet and I get stood up by the daughter of a family friend. It’s… _humiliating,_ to say the least _._ I didn’t even _want_ the date, but my father insisted. Can’t even get the dates I don’t want.”

“I’m sure it’s just a one-off. None of us in the kitchen could understand why someone would even think of standing you up.”

“None of you, hmm?” Jaime took a bite of the Tarte Tatin and let out an indecent groan. “You’re new to King’s Landing, aren’t you? I’d have remembered a talent like yours, the number of fundraisers and dinners I have to attend.”

Brienne’s cheeks flamed in the heat of the dining room. “I came down eight months ago; the restaurant’s been open for five. I was at Winterfell before.”

“ _Ah,_ with dear old Ned. Old families,” he explained at Brienne’s enquiring glance. “Do you plan to stay at _The Wall_ forever, or do you have other plans?” Jaime took another spoonful of his dessert, brow furrowed at her untouched plate. “You should try your dessert, Chef Tarth, it’s beautiful. And, if you don’t, I fear I will eat it from your plate, and I do try to be more gentlemanly than that in public.”

Snorting, Brienne did press her spoon to the soft flesh of the apple and cut through the puff pastry. The salted caramel sauce was perfectly balanced; neither too cloying nor too sharp. There could, perhaps, be a little more caramelisation on the apples, but by the time Brienne had taken her second mouthful, her unexpecting dining companion had cleaned his plate. Through bites, he encouraged her to talk about her plans of opening a seafood restaurant in the Stormlands, of her desire to use fresh produce from Tarth. She talked until all the diners surrounding them had left.

Brienne rested her spoon against her empty plate. “Clearly I’ve bored everyone into going home.”

“Not me,” Jaime said, lounging back against his chair. He checked a five-hundred dragon watch and let out a low whistle. “And here I thought it’d be an early night after I got stood up.”

Brienne realised that they had been talking over dessert for the best part of an hour. The kitchen was closed. Yet, when she turned towards the doors, most of her staff were pressed against the glass. A sharp glare had them rushing back to clear down their stations. Face pink, Brienne gathered herself to her feet. Jaime followed suit, and she did the _polite_ thing and walked him to the front entrance. Brynden had already retrieved his coat and left it on the side, leaving Brienne and Jaime to have a private goodbye.

Not that anything would happen _._ Gods, how red was her face right now? “I hope your evening improves. What’s left of it.”

Jaime shrugged on his coat. “I’m due a very angry conversation with my father about picking my own dates. But I’ll tell you all about it the next time I’m in. A _table for one,_ this time. Although I hope the chef will join me for dessert.”

Brienne flushed an even deeper hue. “I’m sure that could be arranged.”

“Good.” Jaime smiled, bright and genuine, and Brienne thought it was the happiest she had seen him all evening. “So, here’s the thing: a Lannister always pays their debts. You were kind to me; _very_ kind. I’d like to repay the favour. I know how time-consuming a new business can be. You’ve been in King’s Landing for eight months, but I bet you’ve only seen your apartment and this restaurant.”

“I’ve seen the markets.”

Jaime grinned. “ _Well,_ I’d be honoured to be your guide. We could do drinks over the Blackwater. A culinary tour of restaurants far inferior to yours. There’s a fantastic exhibit on the Dragon Age arriving in the Museum of Ancient History next month. _Or,_ there’s a revival of _Oathkeeper_ on at the Goldenhand Theatre.” He slid his hands into his pockets; eyes shining as offers and possibilities fell from his lips. “Or we could start with coffee?”

“ _Really?_ You want to see me _…outside_ of here?”

“Of course. Like I said, you were very kind, and I’d like to repay the favour. _And,_ Chef Tarth, you have the most astonishing eyes. It’s actually why I asked for you to join me. I had to see whether it was possible for eyes to be _that_ blue. Turns out, it is. So, is that a yes?”

This couldn’t be happening. “Yes.”

“Good.” Jaime dug in his wallet for a business card and handed it to Brienne. “Call me. I’ll be waiting.”

These things didn’t happen to Brienne Tarth. “Alright.”

And yet, they did. Again, and again, and again. They had coffee at the _Golden Knight Grind_ , twice. Then drinks at his brother’s bar, _The Blackwater._ Two dinners at _The Wall_ where she joined him for dessert, before a three-course meal on her night off. An afternoon spent wandering around the museum getting lost in history. A night spent watching star-crossed lovers exchanging hearts as well as swords. And, for each and every date, Jaime stood outside eagerly awaiting her arrival.

Waving to him as she approached, Brienne realised she had been waiting for him, too.


End file.
